


Delta's Wings

by Lyraspace



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asriel can shapeshift into Flowey, Biracial Reader, Dadster, Durarara Style Chat Rooms, F/F, F/M, Foster Care, Ghost Chara (Undertale), Goat Mom Is Best Mom (Undertale), Human hate groups, Mage Reader, No More Resets (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Racism, Reader Needs a Hug, SAVED Asriel Dreemurr, SAVED Gaster, Shipper Alphys (Undertale), Shipper Frisk (Undertale), Soulmate AU, They're a Work in Progress but they're trying, Vigilante Groups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyraspace/pseuds/Lyraspace
Summary: After saving the Ambassador of Monsters from a member of the city's most notorious hate group, you're invited to become a member of Monsterkind's secret first line of defense against the powers that oppress them: Delta's Wings. Will you stand up and fight? Or will you crash and burn?





	1. A Heart of Bravery

Ever since you were little, every day you asked the Universe to give you some kind of feeling you had a special purpose in life.

You never expected the Universe to answer your request quite like this.

It started like any other Saturday; you were out of snacks and your weekly fix of waffles, so like any other sensible young adult, you decided to venture out of your cramped, yet barely affordable studio apartment and head down to your local supermarket a few blocks away. Once inside, you grabbed one of the handheld baskets and let your body go into autopilot grabbing the things off of your grocery list, following yet another mundane chore for your uneventful weekend.

Soon enough you find everything on your list and turn to walk towards the cashier to pay for your groceries. You grab a roll or two of toilet paper while you walk and put those in the basket as well, because you can never have too much toilet paper. That reminds you of the leak your toilet has; you seriously need to have a chat with your super before you forget –

_“Ahh! No!”_

“Shut up, Monster lover!”

What was that?

You turn in the direction of the commotion and walk down several aisles in the relatively sparse supermarket.

You can smell the alcohol on his breath before you even see the guy.

He stands around 6 feet tall, wearing worn down jeans and an equally stained wifebeater and black leather vest. On top of being bald and a middle aged white man, he clearly looks like the stereotypical thug that you wouldn’t want following you in the dark.  

However, above all else, the thing you notice the most is the black armband with a white eagle embroidered on it.

One look is all it takes to tell this guy is a member of the Purity League.

The Purity League is your typical white supremacist group, that would attack and harass anyone that wasn’t a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Its original members consisted of bigoted old men and other undesirable angry people, and if you knew where to look, a politician or two. Ever since their founding at the turn of the century, they have been a blight on the nation’s image as the representation of everything wrong with the world. As time passed, when society became more open minded and progressive, it almost looked like the hate group was going to die out.

But then the Monsters arrived from Mount Ebott, the mountain the city was named after.

Afraid and angry at the sudden appearance of their inhuman neighbors, new members joined the Purity League in numbers unseen in decades. Stronger than ever, the hate group was responsible for the unspoken rule amongst Monsters to avoid certain neighborhoods and suburbs for fear of being attacked, or worse, Dusted.

However, none of that seems to be important right now because of the second person in front of you.

Standing in the corner, dwarfed by the shadow of the thug, is a kid.

The kid is by no means a small child, but they’re clearly a number of years younger than you, maybe no older than thirteen. Although you can’t tell whether the kid is a boy or a girl, you can’t help but think you’ve seen them somewhere before. Their face slowly swells up with bruises, meaning that the creep managed to get one or two hits in before you showed up.

Strangely enough, there appeared to be a flower wrapped around their arm. Even stranger is the fact that said flower had a face. Locked in an angry, vengeful grimace, the flower hisses at the assailant as if trying to protect their friend. The vines that made up its body were slowly growing little red thorns in its fury, yet it appeared that it was trying its best not to hurt its human friend with them.

The sight is enough to stir deep anxiety and a boiling anger within you. If there was one thing you hated above all else, it was bullies that picked on people smaller than them.

You know that there is no way you can fight this guy off. He is at least two heads taller than you and about three times as heavy. You also know for certain that if you try to run and get help, this kid is going to get even more hurt, or worse.

It looks like it’s going to be up to you to step in and do something.

You have to be BRAVE.

“Hey!” You shout before you even realize it, “Leave those kids alone!”

All three parties in question snap their attention towards you. The kid and their flower friend seem to not look at you, but something within you, and stare at you in shock, but you decide to ignore it for the time being.

The PL thug does a one over at your small frame and mutters, “Piss off, girl. This ain’t your business.”

“It is my business if you’re assaulting children,” You retort with a glare, “you’re just being a giant prick.”

“This brat has been on my radar for a long time,” the man says, “I’m not letting some kid like you ruin my plans. Now go away if you know what’s good for ya.”

Suddenly, the kid takes their’ assailant’s distraction as an opportunity to get away. They lift up their leg and kick the thug right on the side of one of his knees, buckling it slightly. Unfortunately, all that seems to do is bring his attention back to them and piss him off even more.

“You little –” the man grumbles, towering over the child once more, “You’re gonna pay for that.”

The Purity League member snatches a strong grip on the kid’s short brown hair. They start screaming in pain. The flower hisses, then bites down on the offending arm of the thug with sharp little fangs.

You react as quickly in kind. Before you can even stop yourself, you reach towards one of the shelves and grab hold of something weighty, then throw it as hard as you can.

The jar of what you now know is tomato sauce flies through the air before shattering right in between his shoulder blades. He shouts in shock more than pain, as he turns in fury towards you again. Thankfully, you are the only one in his sights, for he lets go of the kid’s hair and lets them sag towards the ground.

“You little whore,” he growls, “You’re gonna get it now.” He’s upon you faster than you can even blink, with a fist raised against you.

You flinch and raise your arms in a pitiful attempt to defend yourself.

You brace for impact –

* * *

 

Only to find that it never comes.

You open your eyes to find that everything around you has disappeared. The thug, the kid and their flower, and the supermarket itself has all but vanished as you seem to float in an endless void.

There’s no ground to stand on, and no attempt to move your limbs causes you to change your orientation or balance.

It looks like you’re stuck here for the time being.

**_It is a noble thing to be BRAVE._ **

What was that? It sounded a lot like your voice. But you know for certain that wasn’t you talking just now.

**_The ability to rush into danger, be it for the thrill of action, or to protect the weak. This is what BRAVERY means._ **

The strange voice continues.

**_However, it is hard to be BRAVE if you cannot defend yourself._ **

You start to feel a warm and fuzzy sensation in your chest. Suddenly, something slowly emerges from within you.

It’s a small orange heart that beats in time with the organ in your chest. It glows brightly, filling the void with a comforting light. It reminds you of the sunset, or a lantern.

**_Luckily, the SOUL has ways to protect itself, should its owner choose to accept them._ **

**_Are you willing?_ **

You stare at the heart curiously. Is this your soul, like the voice said? You feel compelled to reach out and take it.

So you do.

The reaction is immediate.

The light starts to creep up your arms and quickly spreads down to your legs and up your torso. Soon enough your entire body is glowing in this strange orange energy. Your body is filled with intense feelings of something you can only describe as pain and euphoria all at once.

There’s another blinding flash of light –

* * *

 

And suddenly you’re back in the supermarket.

However, nothing is where you left it.

The thug that was going to attack you is gone. Instead, he lies in a heap all the way at the other end of the aisle. He’s knocked over a few boxes and other items are strewn all over the floor. Orange steam radiates off of the guy’s stomach. He’s groaning in pain, but clearly knocked out cold.

That’s not what you find the most shocking, though.

Your body is radiating with an orange force that illuminates everything around it. It moves and flows much like fire would, but without any of the heat.

You look at your hands, which radiate with this energy the most, then back at the thug, with the orange steam seeping off of his chest. Did you really punch the guy that hard? Did whatever happened in that dark void with your soul cause this to happen?

Did all of that really happen in just a split second?

The orange aura slowly fades until it’s just your hands expelling the foreign energy. You stare at it as that eventually fades away as well.

You shake yourself out of your trance and turn towards the kid. They’re shaking on the floor, staring at their unconscious assailant.

You grab the kid’s wrist and usher them on, “C’mon, before fatso here gets ups again!” The shelves of the supermarket blur together as you run out of the store and towards the sidewalk across the street.

Your body immediately regrets exerting all that energy on top of what just happened. God, you’re out of shape.

 After a few minutes and the loss of most of your adrenaline, your heart is finally slowing down and you can finally breathe easily enough so that you can take your hands off your knees and check on the kid.

They’re staring at you with the most indescribable face. They seem to be looking within you again, whatever that meant.  The flower’s expression looked especially grave.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve just done?” It? They? He? surprises you by asking. So the flower can speak.  You look at them incredulously.

“Look, that was the first time I ever did anything like that in my life,” You exclaim, pointing back at the supermarket, “Now somebody please explain to me what the hell I just did before I…before –”

The world appears to suddenly swirl together, and your head seems light. You feel something pour out of your nose. Are you having a nosebleed? You haven’t had anything like that since you broke your nose when you were a kid. You take a hand and wipe at your upper lip before anything drips on your shirt. Bright orange fluid is what you find when you pull your hand away. Since when was blood orange? Now you’re really feeling sick.

The kid’s and flower’s voices seem to fade in and out, but you do manage to catch something about calling their parents. You think you hear sirens approaching as well. Are you dying? You certainly seem to think so.

Finally, your knees give out and the world fades into darkness.


	2. Bailed Out

_There was quite a lot that you hated about this new school, but Mrs. Hannity was perhaps the thing you absolutely hated the most._

_If the Wicked Witch of the West looked thirty years older and wore an obscene amount of flesh colored makeup, she would look leagues better than Mrs. Hannity did._

_But enough about appearances. It was her attitude towards you that you despised the most._

_She absolutely hated you in return._

_Yet, whenever you got in trouble for every single trite and minor thing, you both had to deal with each other, whether you both liked it or not._

_You clenched your bruised fist even tighter than you were before. At least this time around you kind of deserved to be in trouble. It’s not like you can go around punching people in the face and getting away with it scot-free. The only gratification you could get was that at least Jerome Watkins deserved that punch._

_Jerome was being a little turd and claiming that all Foster Care children had drug addicted and abusive parents, and that was why they were in the system. You had challenged him, saying that wasn’t how you ended up in the system and that everyone’s story was different._

_He then sneered that your mother was probably a prostitute._

_You broke his nose in response._

_Back to the present. Mrs. Hannity was looking down on the report the teachers that were witnesses had written down. She takes off her glasses and sighs, “What’s your excuse this time?”_

_“He called my mom a whore!” You exclaim. Mrs. Hannity appears to be unfazed by your response._

_“And your reaction was completely unnecessary.”_

_“What was I supposed to do, ignore him while he makes up lies about my dead mother?” You stand up and clench your fists, “Am I supposed to let him make a fool of me in front of everyone?” Mrs. Hannity rests her pointy chin on her folded hands._

_“I don’t know what you were ‘supposed’ to do,” she replies, “But I do know you’ll be in detention for the next week. It’s not like I can suspend or expel you; you’ll be leaving this school once you’re placed in yet another home.”_

_“I’ll be oh so happy once I do, Mrs. Hannity,” You mutter, flopping back into your chair, “Because I’ll never have to deal with you again.”_

_Mrs. Hannity gives you a look, as if insulted by your comment. Face pinched in anger, she stands to her full height and leans on her desk with her hands. She looks you directly in the face and says,_

_“You Foster kids are all the same. You pick fights and do poorly in terms of grades, not to mention you never stay here for any reasonable amount of time considering you’re all too busy being tossed around the state like a game of Urban Hot Potato.”_

_“That’s not true!” You shout, “Even though I change schools a lot, I don’t use it as an excuse to get bad grades!” You cross your arms across your chest defiantly. “I have some kind of purpose in this world, and I’m going to find out what it is.”_

_“You are already sixteen years old,” she replies, “and the fact that you’re still in Foster Care after ten years shows that nobody cares about you and neither do I.”_

_She leans forward even more until she’s inches close to your face._

_“Keep this up, and expect to either be homeless or in jail by the time you’re twenty years old. Now get out of my office.”_

_You stand up with a huff and slam the door on your way out. You run until you find an empty hallway and find a spot to cry._

_If you had to pick the one thing that you hated the most about Mrs. Hannity, it had to be how she always knew what words to say that would hurt the worst._

* * *

 

Cold concrete is the first thing you feel on your face when you wake up. Your head is pounding with what is possibly the worst headache you have ever had in your life. Did you hit your head or something?

You start to wonder if this is what being hungover is like. However, you’re too young to legally buy alcohol so you don’t even know what being drunk is like. This headache sure seems to faze you out of the idea.

You immediately sit up at that thought as everything comes back to you; that Purity League thug, that kid, that flower, whatever on earth had happened in that dark void that caused you to do all that crazy stuff with the orange energy you wielded. That’s all you really remember at this point.

You stand up to look around the room and realize that you are alone.

You also realize that you’re in a holding cell.

Had you been arrested while you were out cold? Unbelievable.

This is what you get for being nice to people. You should have realized that the second you aged out of Foster Care.

You feel hot tears prick at your eyes, as you let yourself sag to the floor and hug your knees to your chest. Now you were going to go to jail for a long time, and if or when you got back out again your career prospects were ruined. Your whole life was over before you even got a chance to really start it. What would your mother think of you now?

You’re snapped to attention by the tell-tale sound of high heels clicking on the floor leading to your cell, closely followed by another pair of footsteps. Raised voices seem to follow the footsteps, so you decide to listen in as closely as you could.

“The fact that you left a teenage girl all by herself in a holding cell, _unconscious,_ without any kind of medical attention shows all that I need to know about this police precinct.” A woman’s voice declared.

“She’s nineteen, not a kid!” A man’s voice responds.

“I don’t care if she was forty-five and intoxicated!” The woman’s voice exclaims, “Now, are you going to release my client, or do I need to contact my associates at Internal Affairs?”

There’s silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. The police officer then gives a heavy sigh.

“She’s all yours, Ms. Price.”

The door to your cell starts to click and shift as the lock is turned, then gives a slow, agonizing groan as it opens.

“Jackson King?” the officer mutters, “You’re free to go.”

You stand up and immediately leave your prison cell; the sooner you’re out of this place, the better. The police officer gives the woman a look before walking down the hall and around a corner. You take that time to finally face your apparent savior.

The woman, appearing to be in her late thirties, had dark brown skin and shining dark eyes. She looked very professional, with her hair slicked back into a tight bun, and wearing sharp high heels that matched her black pencil skirt and jacket. What especially sticks out is a golden brooch on the lapel of her jacket.

“How are you feeling?” the woman, apparently named Ms. Price, asks you.

“I – ” You attempt to respond, but your headache comes back with a vengeance. Ms. Price seems to notice and reaches into her purse and takes out a…bottle of soda?

“All that magic you were casting earlier can take a lot out of you, especially when you’re new and have no clue what you’re doing,” She hands you the bottle of soda, and upon closer inspection it’s a monster brand, “This’ll make you feel a lot better.”

Deciding to take Ms. Price’s word for it, you open up the bottle and take a sip. Other than tasting like the standard orange soft drink and the bubbles of carbonation, you feel another kind of fizziness spread across your body and fill you with an energy you had barely realized that you had lost. After a few gulps you’re feeling much better. While drinking, you take another look towards Ms. Price, because you can’t help but feel that you’ve seen her somewhere before…no, wait –

You nearly do a spit take when you realize who the woman is. “Holy Cow, you’re Shonda Price!”

“The one and only,” She simply replies.

Shonda Price was the city’s top civil rights lawyer. Hours of your childhood were spent watching her on tv representing the victims of high-profile cases or advertising her pro bono legal services. Her latest work included defending monsters that were wrongfully accused of crimes from a judicial system that was still adjusting to having them around, or rather, wishing they were gone.

“You’re my hero,” you finally say after internally fangirling in Ms. Price’s presence, “Thank you for bailing me out of this place. I thought I was a goner.”

“When I heard you got arrested from Frisk, I knew I had to come right away and do what I could to get you out of trouble,” She explained, “Any friend of the Ambassador is a friend of mine.”

You look at Ms. Price confusedly. Why would an Ambassador’s lawyer friend want to bail you out of jail?

Then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

That kid at the supermarket was Frisk Dreemurr, the Ambassador of Monsters.

Making such big political waves at only thirteen years old, Frisk Dreemurr was world renowned for being the youngest political figure on record. Every news channel wanted interviews with them. Having been appointed the Ambassador when the monsters first emerged from their mountain prison a little over three years ago, they were a person that was widely respected by most, but absolutely despised by some. It was only a matter of time before those that fell under the latter tried to attack them for freeing the monsters. You find yourself reeling from the knowledge that the kid you had saved not only saved you from having charges pressed, but that they were a high-profile political figure as well, as you finally move to leave the holding cells.

You and Ms. Price both walk down the hall and into the main part of the police precinct. You walk up to a desk and watch as Ms. Price signs some documents with a quick and unique flourish. Soon enough you’re finally outside again to see the sun almost setting in the sky. How long had you been unconscious? It had to have been a couple of hours, since you had left your apartment early that morning. You recognize the neighborhood enough to know it would take more than thirty minutes to walk home. It’s times like this where you wish you could afford a car.

Ms. Price walks up to a car on the curb and opens the door, offering for you to get in first, “C’mon, tell me your address, I’ll drive you home,” she says. You smile and thank her for her generosity, telling your address as you step into the car.

Soon you both are on the road, Mount Ebott ever looming in the background of the city’s skyline. You spend a few minutes looking out of the window, admiring the view. Once you’re bored with that, you start to glaringly notice how quiet it is. Not liking the awkward silence, you decide to bring up something interesting and positive instead.

“I like your brooch,” you say, pointing towards the item in particular, “Can I see it?”

“Sure,” Ms. Price says, taking it off and handing it to you, “It was a gift.”

The brooch is simple in design; two wings spread out from a thin golden circle. Inside of that circle sits the outline of a heart that reminds you of the soul you had seen in that dark void earlier today. Next to it is another heart, but this one sits upside down. You remember reading somewhere that this was what a monster soul looked like.

As you hand the brooch back to her, you look at Ms. Price’s dark chocolate skin. It reminds you of your mother’s, and how much you wished your skin was as dark as hers when you were small. She notices you staring at her and looks at you.

“Is something the matter?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine.” You lie.

Soon enough you finally reach your apartment complex. You step out of the car and shut the door behind you. Ms. Price leans out of the window and reaches an arm out towards you. There’s a purple business card in her hand.

“Here,” she says, gesturing you to take the card, “My clients are very eager to speak with you. They’ll answer all your questions.”

You take the card and flip it around in your hands. On one side of the card is the Delta Rune, the emblem of the Kingdom of Monsters. On the other side of the card was the name ‘Dreemurr’ written in a neat and fancy script that wasn’t Ms. Price’s handwriting, with a phone number written underneath.

“Thanks,” you say, stuffing the card in your pocket, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh!” Ms. Price exclaims, “I almost forgot!” She reaches into her purse and takes out your phone to hand it to you. You instinctively reach for your pocket, only to remember that it was probably taken from you when you were arrested. You take the phone from her hands and turn it on to check if your phone was alright, only to find a completely different user interface. You think there are a few new apps on this phone too.

“Are you sure this is my phone?” You ask Ms. Price, “I don’t remember it looking like this.”

“Your phone got a little uh, smashed when you passed out, I’ve been told,” Ms. Price explains, “Thankfully a friend of Frisk’s was able to get it fixed in no time at all, with a few… upgrades too. Don’t worry, all your data is still on there.” A watch you hadn’t noticed on her wrist before gives off an audible beep. She looks at the watch before muttering a few swears.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” she says, “Almost late for somewhere I really need to be.” She starts up the car again, “It was nice meeting you. See you around.”

You wave at Ms. Price as her car pulls away from the curb and down the street until it’s out of sight.

You finally turn to enter your apartment and sigh when you trudge up the three flights of stairs to your apartment.

Your apartment, small and cramped as it is, is a welcome sight after the day you’ve had. Your hunger finally catching up to you, you decide to make something to eat.

You open your refrigerator to find it nearly empty.

Oh right, you were getting groceries today before everything hit the fan. So much for a productive day.  You could always buy more takeout.

You decide to leave buying real food for tomorrow. You’re probably banned from that supermarket for life after the stunt you had pulled today.

You look at your phone, with its brand-new user interface, then dig out the Delta Rune business card from your pocket. Since you have nothing else to do, and to get your mind off of the crazy things that happened today, you decide to give the number found on the back a call. At the very least you could find out if Frisk was okay.

As soon as you press the call button, the line rings once…twice…

“HELLO!”

Ah! You snap your phone away from your ear before any permanent damage occurs. Geez, this guy is loud! You put the phone on speaker and a good three feet away from you before beginning to talk.

“Hello?” You ask, “Is this the Dreemurr residence?”

“WHY YES, IT IS,” the voice on the other end replies, “AND YOU HAVE THE HONOR OF SPEAKING WITH THE GREAT PAPYRUS. HOW MAY I HELP YOU?”

Not quite sure how to start, you say, “I was given this phone number by a woman named Ms. Price and – ”

“IT’S YOU!” Papyrus gasps, interrupting you, “WAIT RIGHT HERE, I’LL GO GET EVERYONE!”

You hear the sound of footsteps and the phone being jostled on the other end, and soon hear the phone being passed on to someone else.

“Hi, it’s me!” A younger person calls out. It’s Frisk, their voice free from the pain and fear that you heard in it earlier that morning.

“Frisk, hi!” You exclaim, feeling some relief that they sounded alright, “How are you? Are you ok?”

“I am now,” Frisk answers, “and it’s all thanks to you.” They whisper into the phone, “And a little diplomatic string pulling, but don’t worry about that last part.” They snicker, and you find yourself laughing a little alongside them.

“Hey squirt, gimme the phone,” a gruff voice tells Frisk, “I wanna talk to ‘em.” Again you hear the sound of the phone being passed along, as well as it being put on speaker.

“So, you’re the punk that helped out our Frisk,” the woman’s voice says, “So tell us, to whom do we owe our thanks?”

Only feeling slightly off guard due to how the woman sounds, you respond, “Jackson. My name’s Jackson.”

“I’m gonna call you JACK!” the woman shouts, far more excitedly than before, “‘Cuz you’re gonna BE jacked once I’m done with you!”

Was this woman a personal trainer? You had the inkling she might be. You silently prayed for her poor, poor clients.

“Undyne,” a gentle voice chimes, “Please refrain from dragging humans you’ve just met into one of your extreme exercise regiments, unless you’ve already forgotten what happened last time?” You already know whose voice that is; you immediately recognize her from television.

It was Toriel Dreemurr, Queen of Monsterkind.

“Oh, my goodness,” you spill out incredulously, “It’s an honor to speak with you, Your Majesty.”

“No need for such formalities, dear,” the Queen assures you, “Call me Toriel.”

You’re so flattered at the idea of being on first name basis with the Queen of Monsters that you almost miss it when Toriel invites you over for dinner tomorrow. You feel like you might pass out all over again.

“D-Dinner? Tomorrow?” you sputter out, extremely flattered and intimidated by the Queen’s voice on the other end, “I-I shouldn’t, I’m not special. All I did was beat up a guy and got arrested for it.”

“Our children are at home and safe thanks to you,” she says, “It’s the least we can do.” Toriel’s voice, while soft and gentle, gave off an aura of authority that you found yourself unable to defy. You were not going to leave this conversation unrewarded on her watch.

“If that’s what you really want, Ms. Toriel,” you say, resigning yourself to your fate, “Alright, I’ll come over tomorrow.” You think you hear cheering on their end of the line.

“We’ll be seeing you then. Farewell.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

You flop onto your bed, still in shock from the conversation that you just had with what was essentially the Monster Royal Family.

Did you just befriend Monsterkind’s elite?

What have you gotten yourself into?

 


End file.
